Don't Get Me Wrong
by Frisky Wallabee
Summary: Sequel to DAMY new characters and the old ones. Ten years later and the same problems still arise. AU, rated for language, sex, slash and skunks
1. The Return of Cobwow

"Saturday! In the park! I think it was the Fourth of Jullllyyyy!" Hester Waldorf sang gaily at the top of his lungs as he got out of the town car.

"Brother, dear. It is neither Saturday nor July. It's a Tuesday in September," his much more rational twin, Corbin, stepped out after him.

Hester simply grinned and wrapped an arm around his brother's slim shoulders.

"You are far too literal," he said, the cultured Upper East Side nuances in his voice contrasting with the ridiculous backwards baseball cap he wore. His wavy blonde hair stuck out from there rather comically.

"You know…" Corbin looked at the school before them. "Patrick said that they used to call this place Homo High back when he went here."

"You said that last year on the first day of school. We get it. The super gayness of the school has been replaced by the shit at every _other_ school!"

Corbin gave him a reprimanding look. "Language!"

He waved him off. "Come on, let's go visit Patrick before first bell rings. You _know_ he'll be happy to see us."

Hester all but skipped up the staircase. As the more insane twin passed the faded graffiti on the third step, Corbin squinted at it like he did every day last year, trying to figure out what it said. So far, all he could come up with was 'Cowbwow' that simply made no sense.

He started to head up after him but the sight of two people stopped him. Well, the sight of two, the appearance of one. A random, composite jock behind him noticed the other one.

"Look, it's the flower fag!" He exclaimed, actually pointing and laughing.

Corbin tried to muster up an angry look but the jock was far bigger and—most likely—far stronger than he was. As the second set of twins neared, the jock trotted off to his Neanderthal friends. Corbin frowned. Maybe it wasn't fair to call all of the jocks Neanderthals seeing as one of his best friends was a football player but it seemed ridiculously illogical to compare Star to _them_. Instead he paid attention to the two coming up to him.

"Hey, Windy." His voice caught in his throat, which closed up like it always did whenever she was around.

"Wart!" she squealed excitedly and tackled him in a hug. "I haven't seen you all summer! How were the Hamptons? Did you meet anyone? Are you ditching us for a ritzy, private school?"

His skin singed from her touch but he tried to remain as nonchalant as possible.

"Fine, no and no," he said with a small smile. "How was your guys' summer?"

Windy let go of him and rolled her eyes. "Boring. We went to an art camp that smelled like cat pee and made charcoal drawings of John Lennon all summer."

Her brother nodded and handed him something flat and wrapped in recycled paper.

"Here," he said. "Expect one of these for every holiday until the end of the year. I have about twenty that I drew."

"Thanks, Pickle." He took the package and tucked it under one arm.

Pickle shrugged.

"Where's Jester?"

"Saying hi to Patrick."

Windy's gray eyes lit up. "Ooh! I want to too!"

And she was off like a shot. Wart watched her go. He turned around to see Pickle glaring at him. Pickle rarely glared. He was too centered and peaceful for that. Always smiling or singing and his strange, yellow-green eyes were always alight. So it was strange to see him glaring at him like he wanted to throw his vegetarianism out the window and bite Wart's head off. Although, for Wart, it wasn't _entirely_ strange.

"Don't," he said in his deep rumble of a voice.

Wart gave a worried smile. "Um…wanna go say hi to Patrick with me?"

Immediately, Pickle brightened.

"Oh, sure."

Still, as they headed up the steps, Wart watched the modern day hippie out of the corner of his eye.

--

Patrick Conlon sat at his desk, sipping coffee and reading the school paper. He didn't usually read it, it was almost always poorly edited and the students on the newspaper staff did it on purpose because they hated their academic advisor. Patrick was only reading it because he was in it. Or, rather, his graduating class was. The ten year reunion of his class was to take place next week. Why it did so then rather than at the end of the year was just another puzzling predicament about Joseph Pulitzer High School that he didn't quite get after five years teaching in addition to the four years he spent actually _in_ the school.

Part of him wanted to attend but a much larger part didn't. He hadn't kept in touch with anyone after high school. Race had all but disappeared after graduation and Jack was still traipsing about in Europe. He could go to see his temporary friend in senior year, Specs, but what if he didn't even show? Plus, who knew how the student volunteers would react to that many gay men in one room?

"Patrick! Patrick! PAAAATRICK!" The door to his classroom flew open and Hester Waldorf came bounding in, a huge grin on his face.

"Down, Cujo." Although he had allowed Corbin to be relieved of his nickname from when Patrick used to baby-sit them, Hester hadn't been so lucky. He was still ridiculously immature.

Hester quieted down but kept the grin on his face. "Guess who has you first period."

"This may be a stretch but…you?"

He nodded and settled into a desk. "Although chemistry is totally lame to learn in the morning. Star's in this class too."

"Fantastic."

He dropped his backpack into a chair and got back up.

"Hey, Patrick…you're going to your reunion, right?" he brazenly picked up the newspaper and began to read it. "Ten years, big one."

He snatched it back. "In school, it's Mr. Conlon. And I don't care."

"Well, I'll be there," he said, taking a sip from Patrick's coffee cup.

He snatched that as well. "Hester, you're fifteen. You should know to ask before you take things." He considered what he just said. "And what do you mean that you'll be there?"

Hester plopped into an empty chair by Patrick's desk and widened his chipped tooth grin.

"I mean that we're the volunteers. Even Heck's gonna do it and you know how much he hates to stand behind tables. They make him look short."

"…He's five three. _Everything_ makes him look short," Patrick replied but he was largely relieved that students he knew were going to be the volunteers and not possible homophobes.

Before Hester could say anything more, a squeal cut through the air.

"Patrick!" Shannon came pelting in the door and threw herself over the desk to get a hug from him.

"Shannon, out. Go to your first period," he commanded. "And get off me."

She relented but stood bouncingly by. Patrick's early morning tranquility was even more shattered when the door opened again.

"Hey, Patrick," Peter said sunnily. "How was your summer?"

"Fine. Now can all of you who don't have this class kindly _leave_?"

Corbin left immediately with a scared expression on his face but Peter had to drag Shannon from the room by one arm as she waved exuberantly.

"We'll come back after school!" Shannon squeaked before the door closed behind her.

Patrick glared at Hester who took his seat, the soles of his Kangaroos rested on the chair behind him. He was playing with his baseball cap, which looked worn and old but Patrick knew to cost eighty dollars. And the "rough"-looking denim jacket he wore easily went for three hundred. He knew this because Hester's mother had gotten him a very similar one last Christmas. He hadn't been able to bring himself to wear something so expensive yet.

"Isn't it great that we're helping with your reunion?" he asked brightly.

"No."

--

"God, Robert, you are the last bastion of hormonal retardation!"

"And you're a frigid bitch!"

Claudia Samms glared up at her adversary and crossed her arms across her chest.

"_I'm_ a frigid bitch? Is that footballer for 'lesbian'?" She asked venomously.

Robbie Starkey jut out his lower lip and crossed his own arms across his chest.

"School hasn't even started yet and you're already calling me a chauvinist!"

"Because you are! And you're probably a closet homophobe too!"

Robbie tossed back his head in laughter and walked past her into the school. How little she knew. He passed a couple of his teammates who gave him fist bumps and other male handshakes that put them back to the stone age as he headed to his first period.

"Yo, Star!" they called after him.

His teammates believed him to be called 'Star' because of his skills on the football field. The truth was that his actual friends had given him the nickname because of his lifelong obsession with The Beatles and, most importantly, Ringo Starr. Along the line, the other 'r' fell off and he simply became 'Star.' The rest of the team simply referred to him as 'that tanned, redhead kid' because they couldn't remember either of his names.

Star wasn't big with the football players off of the field since they were too different. He rarely went to their parties and preferred spending time with his real friends. He remembered seeing stories on cartoons he used to watch where one kid became cool and popular and ditched his friends only to come back, having learned a valuable lesson. He never saw that happening with him since he would never ditch his friends. It wasn't like popular girls hounded after him either with his curly red hair and nearly flat features.

Star glanced back at Claudia to see if she was still glaring at him. She probably was. For some reason, she really didn't like him at all. Fine by him, he wasn't fond of her either. Whistling slightly, he walked into the chemistry classroom.

"Heya, Patrick," he said with a grin.

"Mr. Conlon," Jester corrected with a snicker. "He's our teacher now."

Patrick gave Jester a dirty look. "Shut up, Cujo."

Star crossed his eyes. "Otay, Mr. Conlon."

"Sit down, Ringo, and shut up too."

Star sat next to Jester and the two boys cackled in delight. Patrick looked a bit pissed but he was sure it was just a show. He totally actually cared about them.

"So, what'd _you_ do this summer?" Jester asked.

"Oh, the usual."

"Hobnobbing with the rich and famous in L.A. with Lion?"

"Of course. Nah, we just surfed in Zuma. Then I came back here and hung around Central Park with Izzy and Anastasia."

"Sounds more fun than helping my dad build boats in the Hamptons."

Star smirked. "It probably was. So how's your crush coming?"

"I don't have a crush on him," Jester snapped, mirth momentarily gone from his eyes. "I just can't breathe when he comes into the room."

"Right. You're in love with a midget."

At that comment, Jester jumped up and thumped him in the arm.

"He is _not_ a midget!"

Patrick glared up at them. "Cujo, Ringo. Shut up."

"Yes, Mr. Conlon," they said together in exaggerated obedience.

They sat back down and grinned, fight over. The bell rang, signaling the beginning of first period and their sophomore year.

--

At lunch time, Patrick sat alone in his room. He had no papers to grade and was deliberately eating a chicken sandwich from the school's cafeteria in small bites. There was something almost refreshing about being back. Shannon's energetic hugs and Robbie and Hester's bickering earlier that morning. It was a sense of normalcy that had been gone from his life all summer. He actually missed those kids. It made sense seeing that he had known them for ten years now.

He took another bite of the sandwich and reached for his bottle of juice. He felt almost like a kid again, eating lunch provided by the school. But the paper next to him deemed that he wasn't. He was coming on thirty in another couple of years. It was a scary thought. Maybe he _would_ go to his reunion. Just to see everyone. He was a teacher here so he'd probably have to.

The door to his classroom opened and Corbin tentatively stuck his head in.

"Mr. Conlon?" he queried.

"What?"

"Heck and I have a petition for the 'Change the Mascot' thing happening. Wanna sign it?"

He rolled his eyes. "Sure."

He knew what they meant from the paper. It had outlined a run for a new mascot. Apparently, a profile image of Pulitzer's head wasn't school spirit-y enough. Putting him in the school colors of yellow and green didn't seem to help at all.

Corbin came in, accompanied by Daniel. The taller boy held the clipboard while the short Brit held a stuffed skunk for some reason.

"You're changing the school to the skunks?" Patrick queried.

"Of course," Daniel said proudly. "Jester wanted the octopi but Star kept singing so we decided on skunk instead."

"Scintillating." Patrick signed the clipboard and the two boys scampered off.

He grabbed his sandwich and started to eat it when the door opened again. With a groan, he set it down. He saw a jean jacket out of the corner of his eye and groaned again. Cujo, of course.

"For the love of God, leave me alone for _one minute_," he snapped.

The shape didn't leave or speak until he bent down in front of Patrick's desk. He was glad he had set down his sandwich because he had a feeling he would have started choking.

"Aw, Spot. Is that anyway to greet an old friend?" Jack asked with a smirk on his face.

--

**A/N: **I couldn't leave DAMY done for long without this. This is my current pet and I love it so. Also, anyone who gets Star's last name gets a cookie.


	2. Rotten Meatloaf and the Dumbass Trio

Patrick stared in disbelief at the man in front of him. Jack appeared not to have aged at all. His face was a little leaner, yes, and there was stubble on his high cheekbones but he was still the Jack who had left all those years ago. Even better. The dark circles had disappeared from under his eyes and he no longer looked ridiculously skinny.

"Jack?" he sputtered, eyes shot wide open. "You're back? You're here?"

Any composure he had left from Jack's surprise entrance flew out the window with that wonderful display. Jack tossed back his head in laughter. His dark blonde hair had gotten substantially darker in the ten years since high school and somehow thicker.

"Jesus, Spot," he cackled. "I could not believe that you are working _here_. In Homo High!"

Patrick got over enough of his shock to correct him. "It's not Homo High no more, Jack. Things changed. And not exactly for the better."

"'No more'?" Jack smirked. "Watch your grammar Mr. Teacher."

Patrick glowered at him. He remembered a time when he had thought he was in love with Jack. And another time when he had gotten wasted and blew him off. Neither were exactly shining moments on his record. But he was thrilled to see him.

"How was Europe and why the fuck did you stay there for ten years?"

"Europe was European," he laughed. "And I don't know. I guess I just didn't want to come back."

He nodded. "Where are you staying?"

"David's place," he replied with ease. "Well, _Sarah's_ place. His parents moved back to Chester when Les started college so I'm staying with Sarah."

"Where's David?"

"She said California." A hurt look passed onto Jack's immaculate face. "She also said that she doesn't know if he's coming to the reunion."

"Oh…I don't even know if _I'm_ gonna go."

"Spot, you gotta be shitting me! You gotta go! It's ten years and you fucking _work_ for the school."

The door opened a crack and voices could be heard.

"Is it him?"

"I dunno, get off of me you wanker!"

"Way to turn on the British, douche bag."

"Will both of you shut up?"

Patrick rolled his eyes. "I can hear you guys. Come in."

He put his sandwich aside, which was immediately scooped up by Hester as he walked into the room. Robbie and Daniel were with him, or rather, in a tangled heap on the floor. They disengaged themselves and stumbling disjointedly into the room.

"Oh, my God, are you seriously Jack Kelly?" Robbie asked, his blue eyes alight with curiosity.

"Yeah."

"Holy balls!" Daniel exclaimed. "You are a legend. People still talk about how you were king of the school!"

Patrick watched Jack appraise the short, British boy in front of him with a smirk on his face.

"Is that so, Mr. Jones?" he queried.

Daniel's face darkened. Apparently being in the presence of a "legend" didn't diminish his short temper or distaste for the nickname that plagued him for years.

"Don't call me that!" he snapped. "Just because I'm short and British does _not_ make me Davy Jones! Got it?!"

Jack laughed and ruffled his dark, shaggy hair. "Hey, Spot. I love this kid already."

"Dude, awesome," Robbie crowed. "Patrick, did you see? It's Jack Kelly. Weren't you guys friends?"

"They were!" Hester proclaimed. "Patrick was mega popular."

Patrick rolled his eyes. "Will you three kindly get the fuck out?"

"No way!" Robbie hopped onto Patrick's desk and grinned up at Jack. "You totally made Homo High what it was. I mean, Heck and I aren't gay but Jester here is and you are, like, an inspiration to him. Well, you and George Michael."

He punched Hester jokingly who chested him back. Jack laughed.

"So these are the kids who go here now? I like 'em."

"Yeah, try being around them all day. Then see how much you like them."

Hester threw his arms around his shoulders. "Aw, you love us, Patrick!"

"Out!"

By some miracle, they listened and bounded outside. Patrick got up from his desk and properly embraced Jack.

"So, you're back to stay?"

He shrugged. "For now. I mean…"

"David?"

"Yeah…"

"You're gonna wait for him?" Patrick cocked a brow. "Jack, you guys haven't spoken in ten years."

Jack shrugged. "I want him back. I mean, Italy has some of the sexiest men on Earth but after fucking them, I realized that I didn't want these guys."

"Thanks for sharing your sexual exploits with every homosexual in Europe, Jack."

"You're jealous," he teased. "Stuck with children all day."

"Fuck up, Kelly. I mean it."

Jack smiled and hugged him again.

"And I'm glad to have you back," Patrick said earnestly.

--

"It just moved. I swear to God that it just moved."

Star prodded the shapeless gray blob on Claudia's tray with a plastic fork. It was supposed to pass as meatloaf and was by far the most inedible thing in the entire cafeteria. Claudia rolled her eyes. He was such an idiot.

They were seated at their usual lunch table and the dumbass trio had just returned from Patrick's classroom to confirm the Jack Kelly sighting.

Claudia was the only one who had to get lunch from school. Star always came with some weird, inter-international recipe that clashed with the mental she had of his super conservative parents—not that she had ever met them. Jester and Wart had their food sent in from some ridiculously expensive bistro and then sushi from Blue Ribbon sushi. Windy and Pickle always had vegetarian slop from their parents. She was stuck with gray meatloaf on an orange tray.

"Get your fork off my tray, douche bag," she snapped, smacking his hand away.

Star retracted it and stuck his tongue out. "God, you're such a bitch."

Before she could reply with a sizzling comeback, Pickle cried out.

"He's back!" he exclaimed.

"Of course, we were just saying that about Ja—"

"Not him!" Hester made a face at Pickle interrupting whatever precious bit of information he was about to say.

Claudia followed the blonde's finger to the door of the cafeteria where the boy who had been his best friend for as long as she could remember had just walked in. The usual slew of crosses and beads hung from his olive-skinned neck and over his plain, white t-shirt. Like Pickle, his hands were covered in rings and his nearly black curls caught the fluorescent light of the cafeteria.

Pickle jumped up and grabbed him into a hug. Several students looked over at the five eleven, lanky blonde boy in the love beads tackling the leather jacketed boy in the doorway but only the more Neanderthal jocks said anything.

"Haha, look, the flower fag is greeting his boyfriend!"

Star grabbed a tater tot off of Claudia's tray and chucked it at him. "Lay off, Chad."

The boy dutifully shut up. Only Star could have that kind of authority over the Cro-Magnons. All the more reason for her to hate him.

"Fucking pricks," Heck mumbled into his sandwich.

One of the jocks overheard him. "Oh, now the hippie whore is talking!"

Windy rolled her eyes. "Can I kill whoever taught them alliteration lessons?"

Claudia had to laugh. Sometime the space-case could come out with something good. The two boys came back over; Pickle had a huge smile stretched on his face.

"Hey, Gypsy," Wart said in his quiet voice.

Gypsy waved and sat down.

"Why're you late?" Windy asked.

"Eva woke up late. Then we got caught in traffic," he explained with a shrug.

"Jack Kelly's back!" Hester proclaimed. "Heck, Star'n'me saw him!"

He nodded almost sagely. "Cool."

Claudia watched him and Pickle with their arms around each other. She couldn't understand why they weren't together. They were both gay and seemed to die without the other one around. It was strange.

"So what're we doing for the reunion?" Heck piped up. "I don't wanna do registration. I'll look two feet tall."

"You _are_ two feet tall." Hester elbowed him playfully.

"We're the band," Gypsy said in his low, mellow voice. "Well, four of us are."

Claudia rolled her eyes. Gypsy, Pickle, Heck and Star had been talking about forming a fanband since seventh grade. She highly doubted that they were any closer now than they were then.

"Heck, it amazes me that you hate the nickname everyone inevitably gives you when they meet you," she said. "And yet you're going to be him in a fanband."

Heck shrugged. "I'm an enigma."

"Wrapped in a mystery," Star added.

"Wrapped in a vest," Windy finished, playing with the suede strips hanging off of his vest.

Claudia rolled her eyes again as the four of them animatedly broke into discussion about their band. Gypsy even managed to make a facial expression.

They were arguing about whether or not Star should have to dye his hair when the bell rang.

"Finally," she said with a sigh, picking up her tray of untouched garbage. She hated to waste food but "food" was used very loosely to describe the slop on her tray.

"Glad you enjoyed our company," Star sneered after her, sticking his tongue out.

She replied by giving him the finger.

--

David stared at the clock. 9:00. Everyone in New York would be eating lunch. He still couldn't get quite used to the severe time difference in New York and California. Even after ten years of living there.

He had entertained several notions in college, including journalist and doctor, but ultimately decided to be a teacher. He wasn't sure why but he felt drawn to teaching English.

David glanced back down at the paper in his hand. The invitation to his high school's ten year reunion. He didn't want to go. It wasn't that high school had ended poorly or anything. It was that he feared that Jack would be there. Even the thought of Jack's name made his stomach do flips and flops and he was afraid to even go. What if Jack was taken? Why was he even considering getting back together? It had been ten years. What if they found that they no longer were compatible. And, goddamnit, why was he even thinking about it?

"What's that?" a voice behind him asked.

David turned to see Josh smiling at him. He handed him the letter.

"Invitation to my ten year high school reunion," he said. "Officially makes me old, no?"

Josh placed the letter on the counter and kissed David's neck. "You're not old."

David put his arms around him and kissed him lightly. He felt bad, considering his thoughts about Jack a moment earlier and the fact that he was kissing his boyfriend of two years now.

"Are we going?" he asked with a smile, shaking his blonde curls in David's face like he knew he liked.

"I don't know," he said.

"Don't you wanna show me off?"

He laughed. "It's gonna be a long flight. It may not be worth it to see my old, corny high school."

Josh kissed his forehead. "Let's go. It'll be nice to see it. What're you afraid of?"

_That the boy I was in love with before you will be there and I'd want to jump him right there. Nothing to worry about._

"Nothing," he said. "I just…I don't want to pay for a long flight."

"_I'll_ pay. I'm the fancy resident doctor man," Josh replied. "It'll be fun."

He kissed David again. David glanced at the letter on the counter behind him and sighed inwardly.

Oh, sure. It'll be loads of fun.


	3. She's been Married Seven Times Before

It was an overcast afternoon in Central Park. The sky was gray and the walking path was dyed from rain. A sole, old lady sat on a bench, feeding a pigeons. An image that is probably always shown. The old lady hunched over with a paper bag clasped in one hand and bread crumbs in the other, shaking them out for the pigeons to greedily gobble up. The old woman probably was cryogenically frozen to stay the forever image of Central Park.

These were the thoughts racing through Star's head as he raced through the park. He kept his body low to the ground and his skates sung on the pavement. He saw the trashcan up ahead and pumped his legs more. He glanced over his shoulder to see Heck a good ten yards behind him. Star stood as he passed the trashcan and threw his arms up triumphantly.

"And the winner is…Robert Starkey!" he exclaimed. "And the crowd goes wild! Ooh! Aah! Etcetera!"

He did a bow and shook out his sweaty curls. Heck came rolling in and collapsed on an empty park bench.

"And Daniel Hector is last," he panted. "Cheers for me."

Star wheeled over to him and fingered the long sleeved, embroidered velvet top he wore with his JPHS gym shorts.

"It's the hippie top," he said solemnly.

"It's the physical exertion," Heck corrected, leaning back against the bench and letting his head loll back. "It's exhausting. Why did you chaps have to invent this? Couldn't you just go on stealing _our_ sports?"

Star quirked a brow. "Chaps? You're being overly British again. You've lived here for eleven years, Heck. Your British days are over."

"Do shut up."

"Besides, this physical exertion stuff?" he laughed. "You said you can maintain having sex for three hours and you can't rollerblade around Central Park?"

He lifted his head and rushed hand through his sweat-dampened locks.

"Sex is different. Sex, I'm good at. I am not good at this."

Star shuffled a little, suddenly looking almost sheepish. He almost wished that he hadn't brought up the talk of sex in the first place. It always made him slightly comfortable.

"What about you?" he asked. "Is your performance based on sensual acts or your rugby skills?"

"Football," he corrected. "Rugby is a completely different sport. Call it football."

"But it's _not_ football."

Star rolled his eyes and pulled Heck up off of the bench.

"Come on," he said. "One more go around then we'll hit the subway home."

Heck gave an elaborate sigh. "You suck…and you never answered my question."

He dropped his friend's hand which sent him crashing back onto the bench.

"It's…nothing," he said in a voice that was much higher than normal. "Really. It's my football skills."

Heck struggled back to his feet and cocked one, thick brow.

"What's with the voice, mate?" he asked. "You got all squeaky like you've got something to…"

A slow, easy grin appeared on the smaller boy's face.

"You're a virgin, aren't you?"

"Just once around the park, Heck," he said, grabbing his arm.

"You are _such_ a virgin!" he laughed. "I thought all you footballers were Casanovas."

Star screwed up his face. "Never use that word. And, in case you didn't notice, I'm not your average football player." He flapped his Abbey Road t-shirt in proof.

Heck nodded. "That's true but, man, I always thought…what about that chick you said you met over the summer when you were visiting Lion?"

"We stayed up all night _talking_ about doing it and then we fell asleep," he explained. "Now you know, so let's drop it and go around the park, okay?"

"Fine. But…" Heck stripped his thick shirt off and tossed it in his bag lying by the bench. Both boys seized their bags, figuring they were lucky they weren't stolen in their first race and didn't want to chance it again.

Star turned to skate off and nearly crashed into a man.

"Oi!" Heck snapped. "Watch where you're going, man!"

The man was a bit taken back. "I'm sorry it's just…do you two go to Joseph Pulitzer High?"

"How does he know that?" Heck hissed in the vicinity of Star's ear.

"Because you have your gym shorts on, moron," he hissed back.

They turned back to the man in the Polo shirt and grinned sheepishly.

"Yeah," Star said. "Why?"

He tossed back his wavy brown hair and uttered a laugh.

"Sorry, that sounded kind of stalkerish. I'm here for the tenth reunion of my class and I was taking a walk around the park for nostalgia and saw you two."

Star put on his hugest smile—he watched countless interviews and Youtube videos to perfect his Ringo smile despite the fact that they didn't look alike _at all_—and stuck his hand out.

"I'm Robbie Starkey," he said. "That's Daniel."

Heck gave a small wave.

The man took his hand with a warm smile. "Michael Newcomb."

--

Wart rubbed his temples in near agony. He had had pretty much a hectic first day at school and the whole matter was being magnified by the fact that his moronic brother wouldn't stop _singing_.

"Second verse, same as the first!" Jester proclaimed. "I'm 'Enry the VIII I am! 'Enry the VIII I am, I am! I got married to the widow next door. She's been married seven times before and ev'ry one was—"

Wart shoved him in to the wall of the elevator that was currently sweeping them up to their Fifth Avenue penthouse.

"Shut up, Hester," he demanded. "You're giving me a migraine."

Jester flashed him a chipped tooth grin and immediately went back to singing. Wart sighed. Honestly, they usually got on pretty well seeing as he was normal and Jester was a psycho but after school was always the worst. He'd be exhausted from trying to hide the fact he liked Windy—and from actually doing his schoolwork—and Jester would be all wound up from keeping his mouth shut for the teachers so he didn't end up with a week of detention for doing something crazy like blowing up a snare drum in the band room—something that had happened before.

Finally, the elevator doors _dinged_ open and the two boys stepped into the thickly carpeted hall that led to the penthouse. As they neared the door, Wart could distinctly hear his mother talking to someone inside. He had a fleeting hope that their lawyer father was back from one of his many, many business trips but immediately cast it aside. Whoever was inside sounded young.

"Maybe mom's having an affair," Jester suggested. "And being really stupid and loud about it."

Wart rolled his eyes. "Honestly."

Jester rolled his back as though he were some bizarro reflection of him and pushed the door open.

Inside their mother sat, the perfectly coifed, made up and coutured socialite that she was, giggling like a school girl and clutching the arm of the man seated on their antique, dark-wood-and-red-velvet couch. Wart wasn't quite sure who he was but he was Asian, good-looking and had spiky, dark hair. He had to be a Lee since his mother wouldn't get that excited over some random—albeit cute, from an objective point of view—guy in their house.

The second they opened the door, their mother leapt from the couch.

"Hester, Corbin!" she exclaimed. "Look who's here! Ben Lee!"

Wart kind of stood in the doorway, smiling but Jester stepped forward and hung his hand out limply, palm down. Ben rose and shook it, an odd expression on his face.

"You guys sure have grown." He laughed. "Of course, it _has_ been ten years."

"Yeah," Jester said with a sly grin. "People tend to grow in ten years."

Wart rolled his eyes at his antics.

"Are you here for the reunion?" he asked, trying to change the subject.

"Yeah, we are," Ben replied. "Came up from Florida. Honestly, I don't really have a reason to go but Nero's pretty psyched."

"Nero as in Nero Rizzio?" Jester asked, the cool act gone and his eyes alight.

As if to answer him, there was the sound of a toilet flushing and the mahogany door to their powder room swung open to reveal a man with olive skin, sparkling blue eyes and wavy, dark hair. He grinned at them and waved, his bright smile slightly marred by two, oversized front teeth.

"Hey!" he greeted them warmly even though they had never met.

Jester, of course, knew who he was. Thanks to milking information from Patrick, he knew nearly everyone—or, as he put it, everyone who mattered—in the now-reuniting class.

"You were Snitch!" he exclaimed happily.

He nodded and stepped up to Ben, easily putting an arm around his shoulders.

"I was," he replied before raising his head up and grinning slightly. "Those were the days. I miss them."

"No, you don't," Ben chided good-naturedly, nudging him with his hip.

"Of course I do," Nero chirped. "High school was pretty much fine for me. It was my friends that it sucked for."

Ben nudged him again and Wart couldn't help but look on in awe. They looked ridiculously happy together. He looked at Jester and could tell that he was thinking the same thing.

"They're going to be staying here until the reunion's over!" their mother's ever chipper voice broke into Wart's near voyeuristic studying of their happiness with a slight bang.

"Cool," Jester replied. "Mom, we're gonna go hang out with the guys. First day, no homework and all that."

She waved a hand. "Oh, sure. Have fun."

Jester immediately was heading back out the door but Wart paused, watching Nero and Ben for a bit longer. He wondered if someday, he and Windy could have something like that.

--

Windy tripped up the walk leading to the same house in Queens she had lived in her entire life. Behind her, her brother and their oldest friend trailed slightly. Tripping slightly in her shoes, she turned around to watch them. Pickle was tossing his blonde hair back and forth as he laughed at something Gypsy said. Gypsy—who rarely actually _made _a joke—just smiled in that mysterious way of his.

With a slightly furrowed brow as she walked backwards, she couldn't help but notice the ridiculous amount of sparks going from her brother to Gypsy and vice versa. She felt as though she was going to get shocked if she walked between them.

It was one of the reasons she couldn't understand why they didn't just get together. She had asked Pickle about it before and he simply answered that they were best friends and nothing more. She had rolled her eyes at that.

Without saying a word to her, she noticed them slip between one of the rotted planks separating their house from Gypsy's.

"Where you two going?" she demanded, kind of hating the fact that they weren't paying attention to her at all. It was true that they were probably secretly in love but that didn't mean that they had to be rude.

Her only reply was something about a sitar and they were gone. Sighing, Windy kind of tripped and danced into the house as was her usual manner of walking and threw her stuff.

Sure, Windy knew that they were so in love and needed to figure that out already but she couldn't help but sigh as she sat on the lumpy, orange couch in their living room that being alone was really a drag.

--

David still had the key to his old apartment. He knew that Sarah lived there, as she detailed on the phone, so it wasn't like he was going to be breaking into anyone's house.

He held onto Josh's hand and pushed the door open with his free one.

"I can't wait to meet your family," Josh said sunnily, kissing his cheek.

David smiled despite himself and twisted his head so Josh's lips could meet his. He was overcome with the need not to go inside quite yet. He didn't know why he was hesitating, really. It was just Sarah, Allen and maybe Morris. What was the big deal? Still, being with Josh felt…good. It felt really good. The best he had felt since…Jack.

Actually it was the only time he felt good since Jack left. For years, he just sat in his dorm room, alone, pining for the boy he'd probably never see again. And then Josh came into his life and everything changed. It felt good to be with him. Really…good.

"Are you two finished?"

David turned his head to see Sarah smirking from the doorway, her hands on her hips. Sheepishly, he unwound his arms from Josh's neck and wiped his lips.

"Uncle David!" there was a cry from the apartment and a blur leapt out and tackled him into a hug. A series of loud yips followed.

David glanced down to see a boy of around ten with ridiculously thick, black hair, pale skin and a fox-like face with piercing brown eyes. The yipping belonged to a large border collie with a spiked collar. David saw the out of place, glittery pink tag dangling off of the thick, leather collar and nearly blanched.

"Liberace's still _alive_?" he sputtered.

"He's my doggie!" Allen chirped. "Mine, all mine!"

He let go of David's waist and hugged the dog tightly.

"You know, for someone who hasn't seen me his entire life, almost, he sure is affectionate," David observed wryly.

"And whose fault is that?" Sarah raised a brow.

"I know, I know," he replied. "But I got busy."

She eyed Josh. "I can tell."

David saw the flinty-eyed look she had and knew that she probably didn't like him. Of course, this was just based on appearance. They'd go in and she'd see what a wonderful guy he was once she got to talking with him.

"So, David," she said. "Are you just going to stand there looking like a doofus or are you going to come in and say hello?"

What he wanted to say was how much she sounded like their mother, but she'd probably kill him on the spot.

"Coming," he said with a small smile.

It faded, however, the moment he stepped into the apartment and let his eyes rest on the couch. Seated there in his stubble-faced, shaggy haired, denim-jacketed beauty…was Jack.


	4. Get Your Kicks on Route 66

David stared at the couch, his mouth actually agape. Jack. What the hell was _Jack_ doing here? Why was he back? Why didn't he call him? Why was he sitting on his sister's couch as if he owned the place?

_Well_, David thought. _For all you know, he _could_ own the place._

For a moment, a fleeting moment, he felt bad to be holding Josh's hand. But he honestly couldn't explain to him—Josh, that is—why he would in the presence of Jack. Josh didn't know anything about Jack and vice versa.

He watched Jack get up off of the couch and saunter towards him. He still had that cock-sure walk of his that made his stomach dip.

"Davey," he said with a smirk. "You don't say 'hello'?"

Before he could react, Jack pulled him into a tight embrace. He felt the momentum yank his hand from Josh's but once he was enveloped in the smell of leather and something spicy, his mind clouded and he was back in high school, making out with Jack in hallways and having sex on his woefully outdated Digimon bed sheets. And he knew that it was a dangerous place to be.

He pulled himself from the hug and smiled at Jack.

"You look good, Jack," he said honestly. And he did. Somehow better than before.

"I feel better, Davey," he replied, leaning down to kiss his cheek.

David cast a wary glance at Josh who stood awkwardly in the doorway.

"Jack," he said quickly. "I'd like you to meet someone. Josh."

He beckoned Josh over and he kind of shuffled up, looking at Jack as though he had some rare, tropical disease.

"Jack, this is Josh. Josh, this is Jack," he said in a rushed tone.

"Pleased to meet you," Josh said, holding out his hand.

"Glad to know you got back from _Blue Lagoon_ safely," Jack replied, the smirk evident on his face.

Josh had a confused look on his face. When it came to movies or music or, well, anything pop culture-related actually, Josh wasn't exactly well versed.

"It's a movie," David explained. "And he thinks you look like the guy from it."

"Oh, well, alright." Josh laughed and put down his still empty hand. Jack had never shaken it.

David had no idea what to do next. He cast a glance at Sarah who had, apparently, gotten craftier in their ten years apart and just smirked at him as if she were saying 'you've made your bed, now lie in it, little brother.'

Allen, though, bounced back into the living room with Liberace on his heels and grabbed Jack's hand.

"Jack, you gotta come play video games with me!" he squeaked.

Jack glanced at him, then at David and Josh and back at Allen.

"Alright. Let's do it, little man." He smiled at the bouncing ten-year-old and they disappeared into what was once Les and David's room.

Sarah went into her and Morris's room shortly after, claiming to have stuff to sort through in there and David found himself alone with Josh. Alone with Josh and a lot of explaining to do.

"Okay," he began. "I know I should have told you about him before but—"

"Jack is your ex-boyfriend," Josh filled in. "I pretty much gathered that."

"Yes," David said sheepishly. "But it's not just that. Jack is my _only_ ex-boyfriend. The only guy I've really gotten…serious with. The only guy, that is, the only _other_ guy I've…"

"Loved?"

He nodded. "Yeah. It's just, I didn't know he'd be here. I mean, I figured I'd see him at the reunion—maybe—but not here. I'm really sorry that got sprung on you like that."

Josh quieted him by putting a finger on his lips.

"David, it's alright," he assured. "Honestly, it was nice to meet him. He seems…okay. And, besides, it's not as if you still have feelings for him, right?" He laughed. "You're not going to run away with him, are you?"

David shook his head and forced out a laugh. "Of course not."

Josh pulled him into a hug and kissed the tops of his curls.

"Don't worry about it," he said, nuzzling him. "It's totally fine."

"Yeah…fine."

It didn't help, though, David thought. It didn't help that as he was in Josh's arms and after he said he didn't have feelings for Jack, he still had the feeling that had just lied out his ass.

--

Wart walked into the penthouse later that night, alone. Sometime during their hanging out, Jester had disappeared back home, leaving him with Star and Heck—whom Claudia had astutely dubbed 'the dumbass trio'—with whom he had nothing in common. He was going to come over to rip his brother a new one when he noticed something strange.

Though they no longer had to share a room—they had enough space to each have two bedrooms—they still did upon their own choosing. And right now, there was a flurry of clothes flying from their open door and music was blaring.

Wart neared the door, wondering what was going on. He looked at their couch where Ben and Nero were watching, it seemed some documentary about killer whales. Nero was staring at the screen in rapt fascination. He looked a bit like a little boy.

"Do you two know what's going on?" he asked.

Ben answered him since Nero seemed transfixed on the screen. "No. He just walked into his room and has been doing that for the past three hours. I'm getting a little scared myself."

Nero quieted him. "Shh! Bo Derek's about to get her leg bitten off!"

His voice had the giddy squeal of a child's as he watched their ridiculously oversized, plasma screen TV. Ben smiled and stroked his hair. Wart turned back to whatever his brother was doing and smelled the distinct smell something made when it was burning.

"Oh, God," he muttered and went into the room.

The song 'Route 66' was blaring from their Bose sound system but it didn't sound like the version Wart had heard prior nor the John Mayer remake. The singer had a kind of slurring, don't-give-a-fuck vibe to his voice that was familiar and yet alien at the same time.

He also noticed that his brother's entire wardrobe was lying on the parquet floor of the hall. All of his baseball caps, denim jackets, bought-ripped jeans and sold colored t-shirts lay in a heap on the floor. Jester, meanwhile, was currently perched on his bed, running a flat iron through his hair.

"Well," he said under his breath, grateful that it wasn't anything serious. "That explained the burning smell."

With purpose he didn't normally have—of course, when dealing with Jester, it was always good to have _some_ form of confidence—he strode over to the stereo and flicked it off.

"Do you mind?" Jester asked crossly.

"Do you?" he shot back. "What are you doing? Does mom know? Lucy will kill you when she sees the mess she'll have to clean up!"

Lucy was their maid and always coddled them from when they were younger but she hated having to pick up messes they—well, Jester—left purposely.

"No, mom doesn't know and Lucy's not going to care 'cause I'm putting them all in bags." Jester ran the flat iron through another strip of his wavy hair.

"Well, what are you doing then?" Wart demanded. "If this is some other, crazy scheme or…something…count me out. You're being all ridiculous again."

Jester set down the flat iron, looked in the mirror and rolled his eyes at him.

"I don't _need_ your help, dearest brother," he said in a matter-of-fact voice. "And besides, if you're going to throw a bitchfit, I wouldn't want your help anyway. Now can you turn my music back on?"

Wart gave an exasperated sigh and plopped onto his own bed.

"Hester," he said simply. "Just _tell_ me what you're doing."

"Fine."

Jester turned off the flat iron, apparently happy with the now-straightness of his hair. Exempting the large nose and undiscerning eyes, he kind of looked like Pickle.

"Well, I was talking with Heck and Star tonight, as you know," he explained.

"I tuned out most of what you were all saying," Wart admitted. "But, yeah."

He suddenly wished he hadn't, having no idea what his brother had gotten up to.

"Well, I had this amazing brainstorm while they were arguing about who stole that tie thing, John or Mike. Heck was winning, last I checked. Anyway, real trivial stuff. So I just got this idea—and my black Amex."

He pointed to a corner where a brand new guitar stood, leaning up against the wall by their open, closet door. He also pointed to the ridiculous amount of shopping bags piled near it.

"I don't get it," Wart said. "I don't get it _and_ I don't like it."

"Stop worrying so much, Corbin." He rolled his eyes. "It's nothing really bad. They were arguing, I got an idea and now I'm off to awesomeness."

"But if you got a guitar, what are all the shopping bags for?" he asked, nearly regretting the words as they left his mouth.

"Glad you asked."

Jester hopped off of the bed and pulled out several items. A lot of pirate-looking, silk shirts and vertically striped pants.

"You're going to make your own version of _Yellow Submarine_?" Wart guessed.

"Nope," he said, grinning broadly and showing off his chipped tooth. "You see, in the midst of their banal argument, Heck and Star also brought up several guitarists that were awesome. You know, old ones. You don't see anyone singing the praises of what's-his-nuts from Untalented Band anymore. And as they were naming some off—they're still trying to come up with their fanband thing—it was one of those times where one just stands out and you know, you just _know_ that it's fate."

Wart stared at his brother's giddy face for a long time before answering.

"Hester…what the _hell_ are you talking about?"

His brother's blue eyes danced at his confusion.

"I'm talking about my new idol. I mean, it was just fate. They were randomly naming off guitarists and all this stuff, proving how loserish they are, and this one name stood out in the blur of what they were saying and I knew, I just _knew_ it was a sign. So I rushed home, did loads of research, bought loads of CDs and old LPs. By the way, I got us a record player while I was out. Anyway, I knew it was perfect I knew my true calling was to be like him…mostly. Minus the dying part."

"Can't you answer like a normal person?" he asked, exasperated with Jester's antics.

"Fine, fine," he said, rolling his eyes. "I've become a total worshipper of Brian Jones."

Wart blinked twice. "Who? Isn't that the crazy guy from The Beach Boys?"

"No, that's Brian _Wilson_. Brian Jones is possibly the coolest fucker ever!"

"Language," he reminded him. "We have guests."

He rolled his eyes again. "_Whatever_, Dad."

Wart glared at him, hating whenever he called him 'dad.' Since their mother had a rather lax approach to parenting—which was probably why Jester's recent, extravagant purchases would go unpunished—he always referred to him as 'dad' after their father who, when he was home, had a more conventional stance on it. The fact that Wart was the third Corbin in the Waldorf family line also helped.

"Anyway, who is he anyway?"

Jester just shook his head. "You wouldn't understand. No go, I need to finish things in here. Go watch _Orca_ with our guests. It's campy and hilarious but Nero seems to really like it for some reason."

Before he could protest, he found himself being pushed from the door, which promptly slammed and locked behind him. Wart turned, a look of confusion evident on his face. He knew his brother could be a little weird but this was even pushing that.

--

Alex Bennetson sat alone in his studio apartment, eating takeout Chinese food on the floor. He didn't have room for a table since the apartment was hardly large enough for his futon. Also, working at a bagel boy in a cheap bakery didn't exactly pay wonderfully. He had screwed around with the manager to get a raise a few times but each time he felt despicable after it.

Sighing, he forked a piece of General Tso's chicken and popped it into his mouth. As he chewed, he remembered the letter he had gotten, inviting him to the tenth reunion of his class. Great, they can all see what a failure he had been. A college dropout who worked in a bakery. Oh, boy!

Still, a more rational side of him thought, Mush could be there. He hadn't seen him in so long. His family went out to California shortly after graduation and his release from the mental institution. They didn't want him in the city. Alex so desperately wanted to see him again.

Of course, Luca could also be there. It was a strange predicament. Ten years later and he was still torn between two guys. Although Mush was much more normal now that he was operating on a cocktail of medication—or if he still was or whatever—that he didn't really need Luca's steadfast reliability. That is, if Luca even showed up. He had only gone to their school for a year. Not long enough to make any sort of bond, really.

His jumbled thoughts were interrupted by a knock at his door. Alex didn't get up in any sort of a hurry. It was probably just Mr. Babbitt, his landlord, asking for his overdue rent.

However, when he opened the door he saw a man standing there he hadn't seen in ten years. Alex even made the stereotypical move of rubbing his good eye in disbelief.

"Skittery!" he exclaimed.

"Blink!" he shouted back, hugging him tightly.

Alex wrapped his arms around him in return and they bounced up and down a little like children. He hadn't realized how much he had missed him in those ten years. They had been best friends since before they could write their own names.

"You're back!" he shouted rather obviously. "I mean, you're really back!"

He nodded. "Yeah. I forced Oscar to come back for the reunion. Selfish clod almost didn't come with me but I dragged him here."

"How are things with him anyway?"

"They're fine." He shrugged. "He's been an ass lately, though, so I've been turning to other guys a little. Like this bass player…"

"Skittery!" he chastised playfully, grinning widely at the return of his best friend. "You're awful."

"Hey, if Oscar's going to fuck around with drugs and be a moody ass, I have the right to screw the equally hot bass player…of another band."

Alex hit him lightly and they went into his apartment.

"Wow…small," he observed. "Do you even fit in here?"

"Oh, shut up," he said with a smirk. "Preppie."

"Layers," he shot back absent mindedly.

"Want something to eat?" He gestured to the chicken.

Michael shook his head. "Nah. Let's just sit and talk. What the flying fuck have you been up to these past ten years?"

--

**A/N:** another chapter in a day? Jigga what?! I know, this got a bit…left behind. But I am updating it. There have just been some complications. For one, I moved and had to pack, unpack, etc. etc. etc. Also, I'm pretty much semi-retired from the fandom. I turned out a couple of fics and I will keep working on DGMW but that's pretty much it.

Anyway, I don't know why I made Jester obsessed with Brian other than the fact that I'm kind of obsessed with Brian right now. xD Also, anyone who gets the little reference I put in with Blink's landlord gets a cookie.


	5. Dr Quinn, Medicine Asshole

The sun was shining with promise, glinting off of the cars parked on the street and making the garbage sweat and produce a disgusting smell into the air. Still, it was one of those late summer days where the air just seemed to shimmer with possibilities.

Claudia couldn't help but think this as she mounted the steps to school. There was a strange spring in her step she couldn't quite describe as she reached the glass doors. Perhaps it was because she was about to spend time with one of the few people in the world she could stand and one of the few people who could stand her: Patrick.

She liked Patrick and she could tell he liked her. Of course, they couldn't spend time together as friends or else the school would start humming the tune of that Police song even though it wasn't like that. Especially since, to get him interested, you'd have to have a penis and to get her interested, you'd have to have breasts.

Still, for a guy who was nearing thirty soon, Patrick was looking pretty good for his age. From a strictly objective, lesbian point of view.

Claudia's strange thoughts were interrupted when she crashed into someone at the top of the steps. Muttering obscenities, she glanced up and the obscenities increased.

Star with his good-looking-smirking-football-ness was standing at the top of the stairs, grinning stupidly. She curled her lip with annoyance. Even though she had known Star her whole life, she didn't know much about him. Nor did she care to. He was one of the football types. The guys who, whenever they see her, try to get her to make out with some random skank so they could watch.

The only thing Star had going for him that the others didn't was that he had no idea he was attractive. The other guys—especially those less than savory ones—always thought they were hot shit. Star always said he had a flat face but he was ridiculously good-looking. However, any self-defamation didn't make up for the fact that he was just some horny, hetero, stereotyping sports star who probably only wanted to see her kiss a girl.

"God," she snapped. "Watch where you're going!"

"Me?" He looked offended. "I was just standing here. You crashed into _me_, tiny."

"Don't call me that!"

"Call you what? Tiny? Okay, tiny. Whatever you say, tiny."

Claudia thumped him in the arm. "Shut up!"

"Fine, fine." He had a stunning smile on his face that showed he was most definitely enjoying this. "Tiny."

"Urgh!" Claudia punched him again and went inside.

As she passed into the cool air-conditioning of the building, she couldn't help but wonder _why_ Star made her so volatile. Before she could mull over this any further, she noted a presence behind her.

"Alright, I won't call you tiny anymore." Star.

"Whatever," she said.

"Why do you hate me so much?" he asked.

Claudia turned around. "I don't _hate_ you. I mean…you're just a typical guy. You may like atypical things than other football players but that's what you _are_. Some closet homophobe who wants nothing more than me to kiss a girl."

His face darkened and Star crossed his arms over his chest.

"Homophobe?" His voice had taken on a tone that the usually good-tempered guy she had known since diapers didn't have. "Homophobe? Who the hell are you calling a homophobe? You think that just because I a put on a uniform and chase a ball means that I just like watching girls make out and that's the _only_ reason I'm friends with you. Newsflash: if I were a homophobe, I wouldn't be friends with Jester or Pickle or Gypsy. Why would I only hang around them to see them kiss guys?"

Before Claudia could open her mouth, he continued.

"You're stereotyping me. You think that just because you're a high and mighty lesbian that means that you're a minority and minorities don't stereotype. Well, they do. You don't know anything about me. If you did, you wouldn't be saying _any_ of this."

With that, Star stormed away down the hallway, leaving Claudia to ruminate in his words. The strangest thing happened as she stood in the hallway, mouth almost nearing agape.

Star was right. Star was right and she was an asshole.

--

Patrick sat in his classroom, drinking his daily cup of coffee. He had begun mainlining his caffeine addiction into powerful shots of espresso, especially in the morning. It was all he could do to make it through his first period class.

Just as he swallowed, the door banged open and Star came hustling in. Despite his heterosexual manliness, he managed to look like the epitome of feminine disgust right then as he plopped into his seat.

"Problems, Ringo?" He asked, cocking a brow.

"No," he said icily. "Just usual shit."

Patrick sighed and didn't even bother to correct him on language. He was obviously pissed off about something. Perhaps it was favoritism but, largely, he just didn't care.

He took a few more sips of his ultra-strong coffee as more students trickled in. Then the door banged opened and boy he didn't recognize came in that made him nearly choke on the hot liquid.

He had blue eyes and straight, blonde hair that fell in his face but it was the outfit that did it for him. A pair of tight-looking, vertically striped bell-bottoms and a silk shirt with a ruffle at the collar. Something was tied at his neck and plain, black high tops were worn on his feet.

The boy turned to him and smiled, revealing both a chipped tooth and his identity.

"Cujo?" he sputtered. "What the…_heck_ are you wearing?"

Hester just kept grinning and plopped into his seat next to Star who seemed unfazed by the ridiculous outfit. He had probably seen it already.

Patrick shook his head at his former charge as the bell rang.

"Alright, class," he said easily. It often surprised him how well he dealt with kids. "Let's get started."

--

Jack stretched out lazily on the couch, pushing his legs out and arching his feet. He gave a massive yawn and sat up.

"Jaaaack!" Allen said impatiently. "It's your turn!"

"Sorry, Al," he mumbled. "I'm still kind of jetlagged."

He nodded as if he understood. "Okay. I'ma gonna get Uncle David to play with me. If he's not with that other guy. I don't like him."

Jack had to laugh. He loved this kid already.

"I don't like him all that much either," he agreed.

"He's kinda lame if you ask me," he continued. "His hands are kinda sweaty and gross. I don't understand how Uncle David could hold hands with that guy without having to wipe them on a towel."

He laughed again, loving the bald-faced sincerity that only a ten-year-old could have.

"Yeah," he said. "I just don't really like him. He's…too nice."

Allen nodded exuberantly. "He _is_ too nice. Maybe he's a secret, government spy or something!"

Jack leaned forward and ruffled his hair. "Maybe he is."

"Anyway," he continued, idly fiddling with the video game controller. "I don't think David should be with him anyway."

Jack was amazed at how easily a small boy could grasp the concept of being gay. Of course, when two of your three uncles were gay, maybe that eased his understanding.

He was about to answer when the door opened.

"Don't want to seem like a stalker or something, but Sarah gave us a key."

Jack turned to see one of David's best friends.

"Hey," Jack said with a smile. "Skittery."

"Hi, Uncle Michael!" Allen said excitedly.

Skittery smiled at the little boy, looking ever the same in the same distressed jeans and pink Polo he had always seen him wear.

"I'm waiting for David," he explained. "He called me and wants to go have lunch today."

"I see. Well, he's out with _Josh_."

He nodded and sat down on the arm of the couch next to Jack.

"Yeah, he told me all about _the doctor_."

"Yup. Dr. Jackson, his one true love."

To his surprise, Skittery began laughing.

"What?" He asked, quirking a brow.

"Jack…his last name is seriously Jackson?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Then his name is actually Joshua Jackson?" He giggled in laughter and Jack felt himself brighten. A whole world of mockeries were now open to him.

"What's he laughing about?" A voice called from the hallway.

Allen jumped up from his spot on the floor, obviously recognizing the voice.

"Uncle Oscar!" He pelted towards the door and tackled him into a hug.

Jack saw Oscar stumble into the room with the weight of Allen suctioned to him.

"Well," Jack smirked. "If it isn't the Psycho from Sicily."

Oscar gave him a dirty look. The two had never really gotten along. The only time they had shown a sparkle of compatibility was when they both kicked the shit out of the homophobes who were beating up David.

Oscar hardly looked anything like himself. His face was narrower and his hair was longer, the front pushed back by a red bandana. An unlit cigarette dangled from his lower lip and another one was tucked behind his ear.

Jack smirk deepened. "Hey, Oscar. Keith Richards called. He wants his…everything back."

Oscar scowled at him and turned his gaze to Allen who was shackled around his leg. A smile split his face—causing the cigarette to fall on the carpet—and he ruffled his dark hair.

"I know Skits is meeting David for lunch, but what are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see my nephew, dipshit," he shot back, managing to come over to where they were with Allen still around him.

He felt relief. "Good, because if you guys were staying here, there'd be no room. I'm here, David and Dr. Quinn, Medicine Asshole are staying here and then Sarah's family."

"We're staying at the Plaza," Skittery explained.

"Perks of being an internationally known rock star," Oscar continued, smirking and letting an arm drape around Skittery's shoulders.

"Spare me the details of decadence," Jack replied, wishing David would show up.

"He'd better," Skittery said with a slight bite to his voice.

"Ooh, Skits is pissed at something _you_ did," he observed.

"Michael," he corrected. "And we'd kind of don't like to talk about it."

Oscar rolled his eyes. "It's not that bad. I got fucked up on drugs once and screwed around with a chick who ended up getting pregnant. Thus, Jason was born."

"Jason?"

"Our 'son.'" Michael said. "His son. It happened five years ago and I don't really care all that much anymore. I mean, he came back to me."

"Where is this little…guy?" he asked. He was going to be really mean to Oscar and call the kid a 'bastard' but that was just too mean for Skits because he actually _liked_ him.

"With Sarah. He's got a cold," Oscar explained. "Or else he'd be here."

Jack nodded noncommittally and that was when the door finally opened. David and Josh stepped in, obviously in the midst of a conversation. It came to an immediate halt when he saw the people gathered in his living room.

"Skittery!" he exclaimed, running up to his old friend and giving him a hug.

"David!" he shouted back, throwing his arms around him in return.

Jack saw Josh smiling at their reunion and was about to say something when Oscar, of all people, beat him to it.

"Hey, Dr. Jackson," he smirked. "Where's Bombay?"

Josh furrowed his brow in confusion. "In India, I guess."

Jack cocked a brow at him and Oscar shrugged. Was he actually doing something for _him_?

"Oh…now Bombay," he continued. "Is that anywhere near Dawson's Creek?"

He suddenly didn't hate Oscar so much anymore. In fact, he wanted to hug him.

"No…I don't think so…" His face was creased in obvious confusion. David had mentioned to him after the _Blue Lagoon_ incident that Josh didn't know squat about pop culture. He was going to fit in swimmingly with them.

Shortly after, David and Michael left for their lunch and Josh went to the bathroom.

"He seems nice," Oscar said. "A loser, but nice."

"Yeah…nice," Jack scowled.

"I still don't like him," Allen proclaimed. "Uncle David should be with someone else."

"Aren't you a little young to dictate your uncle's love life?" Oscar asked.

"Nope!" he said sunnily. "I just don't think that that guy's good for him at all."

"And who do you think is?" Jack asked, humoring him.

Allen looked at him purposefully. "You."

--

**A/N:** A smaller chapter but I think I got what I wanted to be said, you know, said. Also, I put in another obscure Monkees reference. The first was, as I told some people, the name of Blink's landlord but this one is even more obscure and really only known if you know about them obsessively like I do. xD


	6. Emo Roger Daltrey and Robot Chipmunks

Pickle sat amidst the pages of music, various clothes and burnt-out sticks of incense on the floor of Gypsy's room. He pushed a chunk of his thick, blonde hair behind an ear as he watched the boy who had been his best friend for as long as he could remember play guitar while perched on his bed.

Gypsy nibbled slightly on his full, lower lip as he worked out the chords. Pickle leaned in, a smile on his face. Gypsy looked almost otherworldly. The bed was set against the window and the late afternoon sunshine was glowing in, lighting his near-black curls up as it filtered through the opium incense smoke, casting an almost halo around his head. He lifted his face up from the guitar and propped his saucer-sized, Joplin-like shades atop his head, grinning madly, a stark contrast to The Velvet Underground poster behind him. Gypsy rarely ever grinned like that unless Pickle was around. He was always cool and collected in public.

"It's not that good yet," he admitted. "But I _did_ write it myself so I suppose it's something."

"It was brilliant!" Pickle enthused. "I liked it. I still think you should be in our band. We need a killer guitarist like you."

Pickle, Heck and occasionally Star—when Heck brought up his dreams to be the next Ringo—were always talking about forming a band but Heck couldn't play a note and they had no guitarist or drummer. It had started as a simple fanband so Pickle could monopolize on his love for The Monkees. However, discussion—and the fact that none of them even bared the closest resemblance to them except sometimes Heck—had led them to decide to make an actual band and to play the songs Gypsy had been writing since he could hold a pencil, practically. He knew, though, that Gypsy had been for a fun, fanband playing cover songs. The fact that it was to become an actual band made him shiver. Something only he saw and heard when the others weren't around.

He sighed. "I'm not ready to play out. I'm no good. I mean, you're killer on a bass, Pick, but I'm just not that good at guitar."

It was his turn to sigh. "But you _are_ good. You just don't have any…"

Pickle paused and rubbed under his nose. He had meant to say 'confidence' but it had sounded almost mean in his mouth. Instead he fiddled with his shaggy hair and smiled shakily.

"You know," he mustered lamely.

Gypsy shrugged and got that far-away look in his eyes that he almost always had. Pickle extended his too-long legs and jumped to his feet before bouncing onto the bed.

"You're a slamming cool guitarist," he assured him. "Join our band."

Gypsy glanced at him and, for a moment, Pickle didn't see the boy he had grown up with, tumbling around the yard and painting on, but a different creature entirely. A nearly predatory look was in his eyes. He felt as though he were going to reach out and grab him and the thought alone made the blonde's heart race.

"You can help," he said finally, his voice a low rumble and the normal look having returned to his face. "Help me, you know?"

Gypsy spoke in the same, mysterious way he always spoke, not referring to anything in particular.

"Play with us at the reunion," he urged. "Come on. You already said you would. We'd only play mostly covers anyway. Like those guys wanna hear our stuff."

A half-smile appeared on his face. "Will you never mention it again if I do?"

"Promise."

"Alright."

--

"Josh seems nice," Michael observed, placing his napkin on his lap.

David beamed. "He really is. Funny too."

"Snitch won't like him," he warned.

"Why not?"

Michael shook his head.

"He didn't even get a _Dawson's Creek_ reference. And Snitch's entire humor is based on pop culture references."

"Well, Snitch isn't the one dating him," David reminded him. "I am. And I love him."

"Right," Michael said, nodding and hoping his words sounded convincing. In all honesty, he thought Josh was just an easy replacement for Jack—being the exact opposite—with whom he could tell David still jonesed for like a crack-whore for their fix.

David furrowed his brow. "What?"

"What do you mean 'what'?" He asked innocently. "I was agreeing with you."

"No, you weren't. Your voice caught. I do love him. We've been dating for two years."

He held up his hands. "I'm sorry, honestly. I barely observed things. And two years, long time and all that. But you went eight years without being with anyone else did you not?"

"Yeah, so?"

He smiled wryly. "Just wondering."

"Alright," David said. "I always thought Jack would come and visit me but I gave up that dream…you know, after eight years of being ridiculously pathetic."

"Eight whole years?"

"I was in love."

_Was, sure._ Michael thought but, for once, didn't vocalize his opinion.

"Do you have feelings for him?"

"Of course I do. We've been going out for two years," David said quickly, avoiding Michael's eyes.

"That's not who I meant and you know it."

He sighed and glanced at him, his shoulders slumped.

"I do…"

--

Jester and Wart were seated at the antique, mahogany table in their large, sky-lit kitchen. Inez, a maid, was filling glasses and placing down plates of food.

"It's all wonderful, thank you," Ben said, smiling at her.

Wart smiled and nodded before sipping his wine. In their lives—unlike those of their friends—things such as alcohol and cigarettes and drugs and sex weren't off-limits. As long as he and Jester maintained their grades and their appearances, they could partake in anything they'd like.

He lightly picked up a fork and dug into his food. Nero gazed at the array of forks before him, a look of confusion on his face. Wart's heart went out to him.

"We're at home," he stated. "You don't need proper etiquette."

"Yup!" Jester agreed, plopping his elbows onto the sleek wood of the table. "Improper etiquette is key here."

"Hester," the stern voice of their father, Corbin Waldorf II esq., broke in and his usually authority-deaf brother ducked his elbows back under the table.

Wart had been surprised to see their oft absent father when he had returned from school, sharing tea with their overly ecstatic mother.

Jester sighed. "Nobody knows what it's like to have these feelings like I do." He glanced at his father. "And I blame you."

Wart chuckled slightly but their father just sighed—a perfect, cultured sigh and the same one Jester had just uttered—and shook his head.

"Hester, no quoting The Who at the dinner table," their mother chirped sunnily, cutting into her duck.

"I thought you said that about the breakfast table." He had the audacity to slap a confused look on his face.

"It's the same table," Wart reminded him and felt his brother's booted foot come in contact with his shin under the table. "Ow!"

"Hester," their father warned again.

Jester sighed and crossed his arms. He was wearing a rather sprightly ensemble of tight, red-and-yellow-striped bell bottoms, a white linen shirt with some sort of silk, scarf thing tied about the neck and dangling over the front and a pair of brown, leather boots that looked almost pirate-like. As Wart predicted, their straight-laced father was less than pleased at the elder twin's new choice in fashion. Their father was as straight-laced as they came: impeccably tailored suits, slicked back, expensively cut hair and all the warmth of a winter's day in Siberia.

It was also no secret that their father heavily favored himself over Jester. To him, Jester was the 'bad son' with his openness about his sexuality, shaggy hair and barely average grades. Wart had begun to dread his visits home, brief though they were. There always just seemed to be an icy cloud hovering over the whole table when he was around, evident to all but their mother who was incessantly perky at all times.

"Well." Jester pushed away from the table. "As fun as this is, I have homework to do."

He rose from the table and strode away without another glance.

"Young man," their father called after him. "We have guests."

"It's alright," Ben assured. "Right?"

Nero nodded energetically. "Yeah, it's totally fine, Mr. W!"

Their father gave Nero a strange look and went back to eating.

"I have to do homework too," Wart put in. "And help Jester with his."

To him, their father smiled warmly. "Go ahead, Corbin."

He got up from his chair and walked into their bedroom just in time to see Jester loading a CD into their stereo.

"I want to play it loud," he explained. "And the record player I bought doesn't have the amount of decibels I require to fuck with dad's mind."

Wart chuckled slightly. Partly at his brother's complete disregard of their father's authority, that he often envied before he caught himself but mostly because of the cultured, Upper Eastside nuances in his voice as he said 'fuck with dad's mind.'

Before another word could be said, music began blasting from the speakers. Jester let out a war cry and began to bounce up and down repeatedly on their bed. Wart shook his head and laughed. His brother was a wonder.

--

"Is it an animal?" Heck asked, blowing a smoke ring up into the air. It widened as it rose to form a bit of a circle around Keith Moon's grinning face on Star's wall before dissipating into the air.

Star nodded. "Yeah."

"Is it a mammal?" Heck queried before taking another hit on the joint.

Another nod. "Yeah."

"Is it domesticled…domesticated?"

"Yeah."

"Is it a cat?"

"Yeah."

Heck sat up, grinning. "I got it?"

"No, it's JELLO."

Both boys found this immensely hilarious and cracked up to show just that. They were currently sitting on the cluttered floor of Star's room, under posters of the drummers he worshipped. The two rarely partook in the consumption of illegal substances but Heck had mentioned having a migraine and it took off from there.

"Bugger," Heck said, starting to wonder if Star's poster of Charlie Watts wasn't watching him. "Go again."

Star screwed up his immaculate features as he thought it through. Heck stared intently at his friend's face.

Heck's migraines and their herbal refreshment weren't the only reason the two boys had convened at Star's tiny apartment on the eighth floor of his walk-up. Star had expressed his boredom with his red hair and its ill-fitting contrast to his tanned skin. Heck had suggested dye.

Now his fiery red locks were dyed a deep brown, which Heck had said made him look like an emo Roger Daltrey. Star had hit him. Whether it was for the emo comment or the one about Roger, he couldn't be sure.

"Okay," he said, grinning widely. "Got one."

"Is it an animal?"

"Yeah."

"Is it a plant?"

"Uh…yeah."

"Is it some sort of animal-plant hybrid like a chipmunk with grass for fur except the chipmunk's a robot with grass for fur and the grass is also a robot and if you touch it you'll die?"

"Ooh, Brit-boy, you're _really_ close."

"Is it JELLO?"

"Yeah."

--

Claudia was not a squealing type of girl. She didn't giggle when she saw someone she liked or play that 'shhh, don't let them know you're looking!' game amidst sugar-hyped yelps while some hot piece strutted by. She had never done that even before she had discovered that it was girls and not guys that churned her butter.

However, for reasons unbeknownst to herself, she was doing it now.

Although, to be specific, _Windy_ was doing it. She just happened to be there. The two girls were seated outside the separate garage behind her and Pickle's house in Queens. It was the first official practice of the currently unnamed band that was going to play. They were all there.

Windy was currently giggling and kicking her clog-shod feet whenever Wart walked by. Her crush on him was evident to Claudia but, apparently, to no one else as Windy quickly informed her upon her arrival.

Gypsy was sitting off in his own world, idly strumming his guitar. Pickle—much to Windy's apparent happiness—was seated next to him on the cement floor, just holding his bass and talking to him in a hushed voice.

The twins were off to the side giving the girls, as Claudia was immediately made aware by a bony elbow jamming its way into her side, a good view of Wart's ass in his more-expensive-than-her-entire-wardrobe khakis.

To be honest, she had never known Windy to swoon like this over a guy. She had always been more than a little spacey, kind of hyper at times and off on her own planet. Some sort of alien girl wearing hand-crocheted vests and brocade skirts over pants. Claudia also had noticed that she was actually quite pretty, in a pixie-Weetzie-Bat kind of way. And normally sweet. She just happened to be grinding on her very last nerve at this very moment.

Even moreso than Star who was making a horrible racket on his drum kit. He had dyed his hair and looked even more immaculate than before. For some reason, it made her stomach turn in a way she didn't entirely like. She was still simmering a little from their confrontation the other day and couldn't help but ponder his words.

If she had known anything about him, she would know he wasn't a homophobe. Meaning what? Could it be that he was secretly gay? She scoffed at the thought. Star, gay? Hardly.

"Are you two going to help?" Jester asked, a smirk evident on his Patrician features. "Or are you going to sit there like a couple of starfuckers."

Claudia glared at him and he glared right back. Pickle stood and zeroed in on Jester's blonde head.

"Don't call my sister a starfucker," he said in a low, even voice, the jolly, somewhat perpetually stone tone all gone from his voice.

Jester held his hands up. "I was joking, Pick, chill."

Gypsy put a hand on his friend's arm and the blonde sat back down. The two immediately started their conversation back up. The scene caused Windy to roll her eyes and look at her.

"See why I can't tell my brother about my crush?" she sighed. "He freaked out about Jester saying something and he's _never_ serious."

Claudia had to nod her agreement.

"His hippie-give-peace-a-chance-make-love-not-war vibe would totally go out the window, am I right?"

Windy nodded and rolled her eyes again. "Yes. In the form of his fist hitting Wart's face…do you think he likes me back?"

Claudia glanced at the twins. Jester was holding this expensive-looking teardrop-shaped guitar as his latest obsession and obscene amount of practice—as those Upper Eastside princes don't do anything gauche as, say, _working_ after school—had led him to his current spot as rhythm guitarist in the band. He was punching Wart lightly in the arm with his free hand and laughing while looking at the two girls. Wart was blushing a deep crimson color at whatever his brother had been saying. The fact that they were both looking at the girls made the answer to Windy's question the affirmative.

Not that she would say so as not to risk Pickle overhearing.

"I'm sure he does," she said instead, in a low voice.

This seemed to make Windy happy and a bubbly smile popped on her face. Much like when she saw Star, her stomach flipped in a confusing way. Claudia looked away.

"Anyway," she stated. "Let's go closer to the garage so we can tell them how much they suck."

Windy laughed. "Okay!"

--

**A/N: **first of all, big thanks to my beta (my first one!) Rustie73 for the help with mapping this chapter of the story as I had completely hit a wall. Also, yes, long time between updates but I had writer's block, was on vacation and then had band camp. By the way, I personally don't see why any guy would get pissed for being told he looked like Roger Daltrey…unless they were short. Silly Star. xD Also, not much of the characters from the original DAMY in it. However, most everyone else will be introduced and reunited at, of course, the reunion and storylines don't need to entirely advance until then. I also wanted to set up the plots I have in mind for after the reunion takes place. And I'll shut up now.


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